Hot Peppers
by Madame Isabel de Alegheiri
Summary: Jack and Ben and a contest


This little number came to me in a dream....I'm not kidding; do I look like a person who would kid? Of course I don't.

Now repeat after me class: I don't own it, I don't make an money off of it....I just really like to screw with the characters. It's ever so fun, and the best thing is, they can't fight back. Without further ado, I begin my story.

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Hot Peppers

Jack hated parties. Hated was too mild a word. He loathed parties with a passion, because they meant mingling. Mingling meant having to make nice with people he didn't even know, and even worse, people he didn't even like. He wasn't a social person even on a good day, and when he was tired and cranky from work he just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep. But on this particular Saturday evening he found himself at a wedding for a councilman's daughter, wishing that he were some place, any place else. Right now he needed a glass of something stronger than the weak, disgustingly fruity, punch, but he felt obligated to stay until Nora left. Nora. One of her last acts as District Attorney was to drag Jack to this godforsaken confection of bright pink ribbons and crepe. The ballroom was covered in a profusion of the stuff as well as veritable garden of flowers and the heady sickly sweet, scent was making his eyes water and his nose itch. To make matters worse, he was alone. As soon as they had arrived at the church, Nora ran off to chat with friends and Jack was left all by his lonesome by the confessional booth. He forced himself to meander over to the reception, because he was hungry, and, as uncomfortable as he felt, free food was free food.

The food was lousy, and Jack was beginning to wonder why the councilman even let his daughter out in public without a chaperone. That was assuming that she had done the planning...if a professional had done it, Jack wanted to know how he or she was so that he could prosecute them for breach of good taste. It was an offense to the eyes, nose and taste buds. The DJ, at least, was doing a good job, although he knew none of the music, and had absolutely no intention of dancing. Jack did not dance-he could, but the thought of dancing to teenybopper music made him ill. Or it could just be the unidentifiable dip that he had just eaten. Whatever it was, he wanted to go home. Decorum, however, demanded that he wait until the cake was cut. He was quivering with anticipation. Yeah, quivering like an ice sculpture. Finally, the giggling bride, resplendent in her frilly, bowed and beribboned dress, and the bored looking groom made their way over to the table to cut the huge, pink rose covered cake. He turned away just in time to miss the groom nailing his new wife in the face. By the shrieking and nasal laughter, he could tell that she had been nailed pretty thoroughly. Jack was quick to grab a piece, if only to get away from the noise. He munched on it placidly, thinking that it was probably the best cake he had ever consumed. It was profoundly ironic.

He made his way to the punch table, leaving the wedding entourage, and most of the guests, behind. As he neared the punch bowl, he saw that it was already occupied by a tall, slender man in his mid fifties. He got closer, and saw that it was Ben Stone, the same Ben Stone who was supposed to be in Europe. Jack hadn't seen him in seven years, but he looked very much the same. The change of pace must have been good for him. What he couldn't comprehend was what the man was doing. He had the punch ladle grasped firmly in his right had, and had a cup clasped in the other. With the ladle he was busily skimming the sherbet of the top of the red drink in the bowl, and trying to smash as much of it as he could into the little cup. Jack stood and stared, and then finally swallowed the bite of cake that he had momentarily forgotten was in in his mouth. 

"May I ask what you are doing?", he asked with a hint of laughter in his voice.

"This punch is awful, but the sherbet is quite good, if you're willing to make the effort to get at it." Ben didn't look up as he spoke; he was far too focused on keeping the substance from dripping all over the floor. He obviously had no idea who was speaking to him. It had, after all, been a while since the two men had seen each other.

Jack decided to try the direct route, making people guess things was something he found not at all amusing. "Mr. Stone, it's been a long time."

Hearing his name brought Ben to attention, and there was an instant spark of recognition in his eyes. "Yes sir, it has been." He then put down the ladle and put out his hand to shake Jack's. It was sticky from the sherbet. Jack wondered at this-the Ben he knew was not a hand-shaker, nor was he the kind to shamelessly take the only decent part of an otherwise deplorable drink. It made him think that other things might have changed as well. He decided to make a little small talk in order to find out.

"So, how long have you been back?" Jack already knew the answer, but thought that it would be polite to ask.

"It's been six months. After last September, I decided to cut my time abroad short. It was a bad time for Americans to be off American soil, but I got stuck in Brussels with bronchitis for a while, and was too weak to travel. It is good to be home, I can say that with more certainty than anything else I've ever said. I could have lived without this though.", he said as he motioned to indicate his surroundings. "How did you end up here?"

Jack smiled as rueful smile. "The current, but soon to be departing, DA decided that she couldn't live without my company this evening. That was right before she dumped me at the confessional booth. You?"

"I happen to be friends with the husband of the father of the bride's sister, if that makes any sense at all. They found out that I was home, and saw fit to invite me. I only wish that they had warned me about their niece's passion for pink. I got enough of that while I was in France." Jack quirked an eyebrow, figuring that there had to be a story behind it-and he could only imagine what it was. Ben simply smiled and shook his head. "Maybe I'll tell you about that one some time. I was sorry to hear that Adam left. What do you think of his replacement?"

Jack crossed his arms and shook his head in kind. "The woman is here somewhere...she may not be my boss for much longer, but I still can't afford to piss her off. It doesn't happen often, but she's hell on wheels when she gets mad. I'll tell you sometime when she's no longer in a position where she can hurt me."

"Oh come on...she can't be that bad." Ben's tone was wheedling, so Jack thought of a way that he could make both of them happy.

"If you're willing to get out of here with me, you can get from me all the information you could ever want about Nora. But, I don't guess that'd you'd want to leave."

"That's where you're wrong. We could, I suppose... and it wouldn't kill me to miss the bouquet toss...but where do you propose that we go? It had better be worth my while" 

Jack grinned. "I know this great little place about a block from here, so we can walk, and it's pretty warm out tonight. Trust me."

Ben nodded his assent, and pitched his sherbet cup into the trash. He smiled at the satisfactory splat that it made as the rainbow colors cascaded all over the inside of the bin. "Sounds like you've had a lot of practice with that line, Mr. McCoy." A smile that was almost an impish one flicked across his face. 

"I plead the fifth. And call me Jack." Jack wondered to himself what manner of man Ben had become. His formality had disappeared; he seemed much mellower. At that moment, he wondered what Adam would think of the transformation his prodigy had undergone. If there was only one thing that had remained unchanged, it was Ben's desire to be in control.

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The "great little place" was a small, but clean, Mexican restaurant/cantina, and as they walked in the door they were assaulted by a multitude of brightly colored stings of lights and the sound of "Livin' La Vida Loca" blaring on the jukebox. It was planked in oily, dark, wood, and decorated with a multitude of small desert and jungle plants. A pall of cigarette smoke hung in the air. By the look of it, it could hold no more than forty comfortably. It was, however, next to empty, and as the two men sat down at the bar, Ben gave Jack a questioning glance.

"Oh, don't worry, this place is never busy on weekends. That's why I like it. That, and you can get a really great tequila, if you're into that sort of thing. I, myself, prefer the beer, but you can get just about anything you want." As he said this, he motioned to the bartender, a thin, young man who was busy polishing glasses. "Hey Fernando, I'll have my usual, and my friend here will have....what do you want?"

Ben hesitated, unsure of himself. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked around. "I'll have whatever he's having."

"Okay, two Coronas it is."

"Now will you tell me about...Nora, wasn't it?", Ben asked as the drinks were placed in front of them.

Jack took a long swig from his before answering. "Well, there really is only one thing to say. The woman has a spine that makes linguine look rigid. She whines and complains and waffles, but I always get my way. It's actually pretty boring, and she makes me want to tear out my hair. I feel like jumping on her desk and begging for a challenge. If there is one thing that I miss about Adam, it would be the fact that he made me work for the right to do what I wanted with a case. I miss the confrontation. But Nora has no idea, and I'm not going to tell her."

His speech was punctuated by occasional gulps from his bottle, and by the time he had finished speaking it was empty. Ben had barely touched his, but Jack wasn't too worried. He would want it later. With a wave of his hand, another was set before him, and he began to work on his second drink.

Ben cocked his head at a quizzical angle. "I thought you only drank scotch?"

"That was seven years ago, remember? People can change, although I'm not adverse to a tumbler now and then. Say, do you know why I really like this place?" Jack gave his predecessor an evil grin. Ben shrugged his shoulders to indicate that he had no idea why Jack found this little, unprepossessing, bar so wonderful. "What do you know about peppers?"

"Not much, really, other than the fact that they taste great when stuffed."

Jack's grin grew into a full-fledged wicked smile. "Not those peppers, Ben." He paused and began to swirl the beer around in the bottle, while looking into its depths. He glanced up, and peered over the rim at his companion. "I'm talking about hot peppers, like the kind you put in salsa. The things are amazing, if you're used to them. Want to try some? I promise, you'll be surprised."

"Sounds good to me-but nothing strong."

"Fine, I can deal with that. Fernando, could you bring us some banana peppers? And some milk or bread, or something, just in case he can't handle it." Jack used the neck of his bottle to indicate Ben, and the man gave him a nasty look. A minute or so later, the bartender came back with a plate of large, pale green peppers, and a glass of milk. As he laid them down, Ben made a careful examination of each item. He then turned to Jack.

"Why the remark about me not being able to "handle" it? It all looks fine to me."

Jack laughed. "Oh ho boy. You, obviously haven't had much experience at all with this stuff. The milk will cut the burning, or, if you prefer, you can use your beer. I for one, would go for the milk."

Ben shrugged and pulled his bottle closer to him. He then picked up a smaller pepper and bit into it. He crunched at it, and, after some time, swallowed. "You sir, lead me to believe that these were hot peppers. They don't taste hot to me." He then motioned for Jack to take one. He did, and finished it in a single bite. Then he spoke.

"I'm sorry. I've obviously underestimated your ability. Although, I bet that you can't deal with anything stronger." There was a glint of devilment in Jack's dark eyes, and Ben didn't miss it. His reply was brief.

"If that's a bet, then you're on."

Jack leaned back, and used his hands to support the back of his head. "All right. We'll start with something mild. Could we please have some milk and a plate of red chilies?"

The bartender complied, and the two men moved to a table, where they sat facing each other, with the plate between them, and a glass of milk within immediate reach. The rules were simple. One would eat as many peppers as possible, and could only have a sip of milk after each pepper. If the player couldn't go on, or took a gulp while still on a pepper, he would lose his twenty-dollar stake in the game. As they began to eat, it was silent.

The few remaining patrons had gathered around to watch the two men test their machismo, but no one said a word.

Both made it through the plate of chilies without incident, each consuming five. After that plate was finished, Fernando took it, and made his way back to the kitchen. Ben looked at his nearly unused glass of milk, and then looked at Jack. "I don't see what the big deal is." Jack only smiled and shook his head. The next plate contained green chilies, and it was gone through in about the same way as before, although Ben was beginning to look a little flushed. This time, he said nothing, but a little bit more of his milk was gone. Jack's glass was still nearly full.

The next plate was brought out, and contained, per Jack's request, six jalapenos. Ben again made it through, but was now gasping a little as he took each bite. Crunch, gasp, sip, crunch, gasp, sip. Jack was still composed. 

"Ready to give up yet?" He doubted that Ben was, but he thought that he would ask anyway. He got the reply that he expected.

"No."

That served as an invitation for the next plate, and on it were two small, crinkled habaneros. Ben smiled. "These are small, how bad can they be?" Jack said nothing, while those watching exchanged knowing looks. He popped it into his mouth after removing the stem, and grinned, amused at the fact that Ben's eyes were fairly bulging out of his head. He was amazed by the fact that he was able, through strength of will, to finish chewing and swallowing before going for his milk, which was now halfway gone. Still, his competitor persevered, and after catching his breath, asked what was next. Jack sent the bartender off to the kitchen once more, for what he was certain would be the last plate. 

"Are you sure, sir?", the young man hesitantly asked. He had a look of awe and fear about him that was mirrored in the patrons.

"Of course."

There were, again, two peppers, but these were shiny, a waxy, dark purple unlike anything else that had shown up that night. They were positively evil in appearance, and had something of a reputation. Jack didn't know their exact name, so he just called them "Insanity peppers." He paused before picking his up, and he took a good look at Ben. His eyes were still tearing from the last batch, and his usually pale face was a startling tomato red.

"Are you okay?"

Ben said nothing, just waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. Although whether or not it was because he was temporarily incapable of speech, or just chose not to say any thing, Jack wasn't sure. He suspected the former.

As he bit into the pepper, a sensation like hellfire swept over his tongue and the roof of his mouth. It was all he could do to make himself chew it and swallow before grabbing his milk glass. Ben took a bite of the fiendish thing-and promptly passed out. He slumped over in his chair and ungracefully slid onto the floor. After checking to make sure that the man hadn't hit his head and wasn't chocking, Jack temporarily abandoned him to the care of the bartender, who flicked his wrists with a wet rag. While this was going on he finished his milk and then downed a full bottle of Corona, watching, concernedly, the whole time. As Ben was coming to, he ducked into the bathroom to wash the vile taste of the stuff out of his mouth. He hated beer.

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It was all, of course, a deliberate and elaborate ruse. Jack, while having no real negative feelings toward Ben Stone, had felt himself to be living under the man's shadow. He knew that he would never be able to beat Ben on his home turf, and never in the newspapers or in the court of Adam Schiff's opinion. For the most part, he had never given it serious thought until he heard that the prodigal had come home from his traipsings in Europe. At that moment, a plan began to form in his head, whereby he would get satisfaction by besting Ben at something. And he had decided to use something that he would never suspect.

First, he found out what Ben was now like. He was softer in many ways, but the general consensus from everyone hw asked was that the stubborn Ben everyone knew was still very much alive. Ben never turned down a challenge, and Jack knew that he could use that fact to his advantage. The nature of the challenge was carefully crafted, and Jack spent three months getting used to a variety of hot peppers and Mexican beer, as well as developing a familiarity with the staff at "Los Gatos Locos". It wasn't easy...he hated peppers immensely, and beer even more. But he did it. All he needed was a chance to lure Ben away, and to Jack's glee, the chance came sooner than he had expected. He found out about a wedding from Nora, and heard through the office grapevine that the long lost EADA would be in attendance. He suddenly had an opportunity right under his nose. From that point it was just a matter of getting Nora to make him come without her knowing that he wanted to. All it took was a reference to the fact that he had nothing to do that weekend, and Nora decided that he could use a little company. The rest, as they say, is history. 

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An addendum: Jack did see to it that Ben got home safely, and the two of them became friends. Although Ben knows better now than to get into any contests with Jack-he doesn't want to lose any more money.

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Like it? Want me to burn it? Review, and let me know. I live on reviews...they are my air. 


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